


The Joys of Shore Leave

by NewLeeland, Thrawnduil



Series: Imperial Shipping [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: A sailor's life for the Imperials, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Tarkin and his crew, Chief Engineer Krennic, Chief Steward Thrawn, Humor, Krennic isn't gay, Modern AU, Modern AU - Cargo shipping, Or IS he?!, Panama Canal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 06:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewLeeland/pseuds/NewLeeland, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thrawnduil/pseuds/Thrawnduil
Summary: Part I of the Imperial Shipping series: The crew of the MS Kenley enjoys an evening of shore leave in the city of Colón. But the recreation time is cut short when Captain Tarkin has a new job for them...





	The Joys of Shore Leave

**Author's Note:**

> My dear friend Thrawnduil and I had this idea for a modern AU while taking a bus ride in the city we both study in and saw a bulk carrier on the canal. The idea of Captain Tarkin, Chief Engineer Krennic, Thrawn as a ship cook and loads of more Imperials as the crew was far too tempting to resist, so we proudly present Part One of "Imperial Shipping".
> 
> For the fans of the Rogue One universe: Don't worry. No spoilers, but rest assured that the Imperials and especially Krennic and Tarkin aren't the only characters featuring in this series! ;)

* * *

 

**Colón, Panama - August 2017**

The shrill ringing of the ship‘s phone cut through the peaceful quiet onboard. Captain Tarkin had taken a brief nap in his quarters, relishing the short shore leave where no one would bother him for once.

“Captain Tarkin, _M_ _ _S_ Kenley _ speaking?“

“Good evening, Wil,“ the cheerful voice of Tarkin‘s younger brother Gideon greeted him.

Accurate as always, Gideon had used the correct greeting, not his own time back home in England.

“Hello, Gideon. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?“

“I have something for you. A nice medium-sized cargo load. Cocoa plants. It would only be a brief voyage. From Colón to Ciudad de Panamá. The cargo is expected on the 21st at the latest, so you would have to leave tomorrow afternoon. Think you're up to it, dear brother?“

“Your attempts at humour are not appreciated,“ Tarkin replied dryly. This kind of banter was common for the two brothers. Wilhuff was the older brother, more reserved and way more severe. Nevertheless, they were a good team, Gideon being the one who usually secured the cargo deals and worked his charms, while Wilhuff got the job done. Or as he liked to put it “did the actual work.“

“Well then, I‘ll tell the contractor we accept. The cargo will be delivered to your pier tomorrow morning. So you‘d better collect your motley crew. Before I forget“, he quickly added, “you‘re getting some fresh blood on your vessel. Four young men are being transferred to the _Kenley_. They all had … exceptionally bad luck on their last voyage.“

“Dare I ask?“ Wilhuff replied with a sigh.

“You remember Captain Ramda? Captain Sotorus “Shipwreck“ Ramda? Well, apparently, he wrecked his last ship. And Hux‘s _Seakiller_ didn‘t make it through the last storm, it capsized off Bermuda. But I‘ll guess a simple trip through the Panama Canal should be an easy affair. Even with your … illustrious crew,“ he added with glee.

“It was a pleasure to talk to you as always. Give Rivoche my love.“ Tarkin hung it, but not before he had heard a final chuckle from Gideon. Mulling over the news, he reached for his cellphone. If he didn‘t manage to reach his crew now, half of them would be dead drunk in the morning and in no condition to prepare for departure.

* * *

“Piett? Are you there?“ Normally, his chief officer was a very reliable man, otherwise he wouldn‘t have the post. However, the sound wrecking through the phoneline suggested otherwise. Angry voices yelling in Spanish, English and other languages Tarkin could not identify, the breaking of glass and even some screams of pain could be faintly heard. Finally, Piett answered.

“Sir. How can I help?“ Tarkin noticed he seemed short of breath and his voice was slightly garbled as if the man was moving the phone constantly.

“What in Poseidon‘s name is going on there?“ Tarkin asked, now slightly irritated.

“Eh, nothing, Sir. Really. All fine.“ There was a smacking sound and Tarkin could clearly hear his officer grunting before there was a shattering of glass.

“Sorry, Sir. Just a slight distraction. Now, what can I do for you?“ At least, his voice was clear now.

“I have no idea what your lot is up too, but it doesn‘t matter. We have a job for tomorrow. Gather the rest of the crew and bring them to the pier. They‘re gonna spend the night on the ship, because I know that they‘ll be useless tomorrow if they don‘t have a curfew.“

He was pretty sure he heard Piett sigh, but after a few heartbeats, the officer replied. „Yes, Captain. It will be done.“

* * *

He should have known. The one time he got involved in a fight, Captain Tarkin would call on him. It had started completely innocently. A few drinks among sailors, a few friendly wagers, a typical evening of shore leave. Until someone had insulted the _Kenley_ and even worse her Captain. Piett and his fellow officers, Needa, Covell, Dorja and Veers had immediately reacted. Covell on the frontlines as usual.

Piett had even tried to defuse the situation, knowing fully well that their Captain frowned upon such brute behaviour. But all attempts at diplomacy had been doomed to fail the moment Covell suckerpunched the first one to come across him. Piett had grabbed his fellow sailor and in return had taken the hit intended for Covell.

From there on it was chaos. Like most pubs at the harbours, one fistfight exploded into a room full of brawling men. It seemed like they had only waited for such an opportunity. And in the middle of this cacophony of punches and screams, Captain Tarkin had called him. It had taken Piett several attempts and some clever maneuvering through the crowd to dive over the bar counter and into the relative safety it provided.

Of course Tarkin had noticed, the noise was hard to miss and Piett himself was not his usual pristine self. At least the Captain had not insisted on an explanation, for now, but the first officer did not look forward to his new task either. Collecting the bunch of sailors that called themselves his crew was a challenge. First he had to extract his officers from the still raging fight. A task that was easier said than done.

“Veers! Covell! Needa! Dorja! Move out!“ he bellowed, his voice cutting through the rigmarole. It took several minutes, while Piett made his way to the entrance, carefully avoiding any further punches and kicks. But finally Veers and Needa appeared, pulling a still raging Covell with them. Dorja limped behind, one hand pressed to a bleeding lip.

“Gentlemen! We have new orders from Captain Tarkin. Fresh cargo is waiting for us tomorrow, which means shore leave is over and we have to return to the ship. Covell, since you started the fight, you can help Dorja back to the ship. Veers, Needa and I will gather the rest of the crew.“ Covell and Dorja limped towards the harbour, Covell still muttering curses while Dorja seemed simply relieved.

Piett turned to the two remaining officers. “I have my suspicions about where the rest of the crew might be at the moment. We‘ll split up. Krennic muttered something about the best salad bar in town, he mentioned the name _Mid Rim_ , the senior sailors will probably be in one of the gentlemen‘s clubs.“

“Thrawn wanted to visit some shop for delicacies uptown“, Veers interjected. “He took me there last time to lecture about some Bolivian nuts.“

“Excellent then it‘s your job, Veers. I will get the senior officers and you Needa, try and find this _Mid Rim_. We‘ll meet back at the ship.“

* * *

The gentlemen‘s club _Sir Haytham Kenway_ was a stark contrast to the sailor‘s tavern Piett had just left. There was an almost eerie tranquility enveloping the main hall. Faint murmuring could be heard through the doors. Piett even had to show his officer‘s license to gain entrance. He had never been in there before, preferring the more casual atmosphere of the local pubs.

But he had to admit the room itself was quite cozy. Arrayed around half a dozen tables were several comfortable plush chairs, occupied by elderly gentlemen. Many of them smoked pipes or read the newspaper, _The Times_ , as Piett could glean from the man sitting closest to the door.

He found the trio he was looking for near one of the large panorama windows. Yularen and Romodi were playing a game of chess, while Ozzel watched, apparently mystified by the sheer complexity of the game. Piett waited respectfully a few steps away, while Romodi was pondering about the right move. Finally he carefully lifted his rook and pushed it forward a few squares.

“An excellent move, if I might say so, my dear Hurst“, Yularen praised. Romodi merely smiled humbly.

“Gentlemen“, Piett greeted them.

“Ah, young Firmus, have you come to join us? Finally weary of the rashness of the younger crewmen?“ By now Piett was familiar with the ever present teasing of Yularen and he did not mind it.

“Gentlemen, I regret to cut your game short. However, Captain Tarkin has requested our immediate return to the ship. We will depart tomorrow with a fresh cargo load and the Captain has recalled everyone.“

“A pity, indeed.“ Yularen said. “We shall continue our game another time, my dear Hurst.“ He stood up, followed by Romodi who replied: “Of course, of course, another time.“

Without a further glance at the chessboard the two left, Ozzel hurrying to catch up with them. He reminded Piett of a dumb but loyal dog, following his owners.

* * *

Veers found Thrawn quickly and as he had assumed a whole bunch of other officers were with him. Though he was not sure how many of them had volunteered.

“A great cook creates meals. A good cook recognises the ingredients of a meal presented to him. A fair cook must taste the meal before serving it. Those with no culinary ability at all may never understand or accept it. Nor will they understand the cook. And when a mind is too deficient in understanding, the resulting gap is often filled with resentment.“

Veers noticed the glassy eyes of several officers, listening to the chief steward‘s monologue. Thrawn was an odd fellow. Tall with jet black hair and skin so white he had to spend a fortune on sun blockers alone. Coupled with a rare eye condition that left them appearing bloodshot and an intellect fitting for a college professor, he had a passion for the culinary arts as he called them and as such was entirely unique. As nobody could really pronounce his name – he was from Finland if Veers recalled correctly – they had started calling him “Thrawn“ after a few days and the name had stuck.

Veers decided to rescue his fellow crewmen and stepped forward. “Chief Steward, First Officer Piett has sent me to notify you of Captain Tarkin‘s new orders. We are to return to the ship at once, due to a new task awaiting us tomorrow.“

If Thrawn was disappointed he did not let it show. He inclined his head, acknowledging Veers‘ statement. „Thank you, Third Officer Veers. We will return without any further delay.“

Thankfully, Thrawn did not see the obvious relief painted on the faces of his officers.

* * *

It was curious how many people had turned away at the mere mention of the _Mid Rim_. One had even started to curse him in Spanish. At least Needa thought it had been cursing, since he did not speak any Spanish. Just what kind of establishment was Krennic visiting? When he finally did manage to find the _Mid Rim_ , he was a bit underwhelmed. From the outside it looked like a shabby little bar, nothing special about it. As soon as he had entered, however, that impression changed.

It was not as crowded as the tavern had been. Blue lights cast a dim glow on the room which was filled with small tables, bar chairs, and strangely enough, poles. Upon entering Needa was almost immediately swarmed by three men, each one clothed in tight fitting leather jeans.

“Hello, sailor“, one of them greeted him sweetly. He ignored the cliché, trying to search for Krennic, but the three men effectively blocked his way.

“Not so fast, sweetie, if you‘re looking for someone you‘ve found the right one“, the first one said, even going so far as to grab Needa‘s rear. “You look like you are hiding quite the gun in your pants. What say you, shall we take a look?“

Needa was absolutely flabbergasted. Too overwhelmed to act, he just watched, as the three men suddenly started a lively discussion. “The length is what matters, if he can‘t reach deep enough, it makes no sense.“

“On the contrary, it is the girth that‘s important. There‘s nothing better than a thick cock up your alley.“

Now the third one joined in, just as enthusiastic: “No, no, you are both wrong. It‘s all about the angle. If there‘s a nice curve to it, you can hit just the right spot!“

Needa had finally realised just what kind of establishment he was in and a deep blush settled on his cheeks. “I…no...I‘m just looking for a friend“, he tried.

“Oh, honey, you have already found some, don‘t worry. I‘ll take good care of you.“

Thankfully, he had finally spotted Krennic across the room. He was sucking on a water pipe with his left, while holding a bright drink of some sort in his right. And he was looking directly at Needa, apparently very amused by the sight. Needa shot him a frustrated glare, trying to push his way through the three men. At last the trio let him through, giggling among themselves as they looked after his retreating form.

“Chief, Chief, Captain Tarkin has sent me“, he said in lieu of a greeting

Immediately every sign of amusement left Krennic‘s face. “Has he now? Well, what does he want?“

“He has recalled the entire crew to the ship. We have a new cargo tour starting tomorrow.“

Krennic sighed deeply. “I ask for one evening to myself with no disturbances, to enjoy the best salad I‘ve ever tasted – don‘t tell Thrawn I said that – and of course I can‘t even have that one evening.“

“You know that this is a gay bar right?“ Needa felt compelled to ask.

Krennic lifted one eyebrow. “Yes of course“ he replied completely unperturbed. “And it has the best salad bar in the whole of Central America. Come on let‘s go, you know how irate he gets, when he has to wait.“

Throwing a few dollar bills on the table, Krennic put on his cape and strode confidently towards the exit. Needa followed, eager to leave this strange place.

He couldn’t help but realize that he hadn’t seen any signs of a salad bar in the entire establishment.

* * *

Randolph Tivik wasn’t usually this drunk. No, Sir!

But the last week had been rather tedious, so a few beers seemed feasible. As it turned out, one of the thirteen or fourteen had been bad. Or maybe one of the shots?

With sober eyes, the cargo palette didn’t seem like a comfy place to spent the night. But at least it wasn’t swaying. Nights in Panama were still quite warm, even more so in August, so he didn’t have to worry about a cold. So, all things considered, it wasn’t a fancy hotel or even a shady inn, but it was free.

Not anymore though.

“Morning, lad,” a bright and cheery voice belonging to the foot that currently prodded his side greeted him. “I hate to interrupt your beauty sleep, but we’re gonna need the pallet.”

Looking up with sleepy eyes, Tivik saw a man in a gray sailor’s uniform, clean shaven face, perhaps 40 or something like that. Grumbling, Tivik gathered himself, carefully checking his pockets. Wallet, key, cellphone, handkerchief - all still there. He nodded towards the still smiling officer and made his way to the street that run next to the harbour.

Before he could leave the pier entirely behind though, he turned around one final time. A bulk carrier was anchored there and it seemed like it was in the process of being reloaded.

When his eyes trailed over the name of the ship, his brain shifted into the “fully awake modus”.

_Kenley._

His boss, Saw, used to rant about many different things when he was drunk. Climatic change, oil spills, modern ships, telenovelas, Cuba Libre, Honduran border police, politicians, monks. And about one "Captain Talkin" or something like that and his ship.

Now Tivik was much more awake than before, but that didn’t change the fact that he had still more alcohol in his blood than an adult male human should have. Which meant his senses weren’t operating at peak capacity. That maybe explained why he was unsure what exactly Saw’s problem with this ship was - granted, Saw had problems with everybody - but it seemed feasible to lunger around a bit longer and try to find out what was going on here.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to wait for long. Just three minutes after he made his brilliant - from his point of view - decision, an official looking Panamanian arrived at the pier, clipboard in hands. The man singlemindedly made his way towards the _Kenley_ and was greeted by a thin, maybe even haggard man around fifty.

Using several yet to be shipped containers as cover, Tivik crept nearer to where the two men were talking.

“Your documents are all in order, señor. A pleasure doing business with you. If only all could be this accurate…”

“Yes, yes, of course. Would that be all? You understand that the cargo is sensitive and time is at the utmost importance.”

“Si, si, señor. Cocoa plants are very sensitive, I know. I won’t keep you further. Buen viaje!”

The other man nodded a thanks and the Panamanian departed, seemingly contend.

Not a lot … But wait! Hadn’t the official mentioned coca plants? Tivik’s mind went into overdrive. It fit. According to Saw, Tarkin had a gloomy reputation, ferrying drugs wasn’t beneath him if the money was good.

Tivik wasn’t high in Saw’s graces - a terrible mistake, really - but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to remedy this. Saw’s displeasure with drugs was an open secret although nobody really knew why his obsession with the war against drugs had almost the measures of a crusade.

Retrieving his cell from his pocket, he fumbled with the numbers till he finally found Saw’s contact information.

After only three rings, a gruff voice announced. “What?”

“Saw? Boss! You wouldn’t believe over whom I stumbled at the pier…”

**Author's Note:**

> \- The city of Colón lies on the Atlantic entrance of the Panama Canal. The other end is near Balboa, a district of the capital of Ciudad de Panamá (English: Panama City). So the voyage is only from the Atlantic port of the canal to the Pacific port. What could possibly happen on this short trip? It's only 48 miles or 77 kilometres.
> 
> \- Tarkin's ship is named after Kenley, a district in the south of the London Borough of Croydon. Tarkin's actor, Peter Cushing, was born there.
> 
> \- Gideon Tarkin and Gideon's daughter Rivoche are both characters from the old Legends continuity. Gideon is Wilhuff's younger brother.
> 
> \- No matter the universe, Sotorus Ramda is always incompetent.
> 
> \- The name Mid Rim for the club is a reference to the region of space in the Star Wars universe. Considering the nature of this particular pub, it's name could be ambigous.
> 
> \- The gentlemen's club Sir Haytham Kenway is a tribute to the character from Assassin's Creed.
> 
> \- Thrawn's short monologue is a modified version of a speech he gives in Timothy Zahn's eponymous novel.
> 
> \- Krennic's sexual orientation and if the Mid Rim has a salad bar are mysterious questions. They were inspired by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlGclIZV5JQ
> 
> \- The authors of this story deny having any troubles with or holding grudges against the Honduran border police and have no dark history with Cuba Libre. We aren't Saw!
> 
> \- Once again, Tivik sets wheels in motion that might crush him one day.


End file.
